


Pool and a Pint... or Ten

by fiercy, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Chris Hemsworth and Henry Cavill [2]
Category: Actor RPF, Australian Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), Superman RPF, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 16:01:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6526750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiercy/pseuds/fiercy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a re-posting (archiving) of all logs for the Chris Hemsworth/Henry Cavill storyline in the BDSM RPS RPG <a href="http://citadel.dreamwidth.org/read">Citadel</a>. If you're interested in joining, please contact the mods as listed <a href="http://citadel-info.dreamwidth.org/995.html#cutid1">here</a>.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Pool and a Pint... or Ten

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-posting (archiving) of all logs for the Chris Hemsworth/Henry Cavill storyline in the BDSM RPS RPG [Citadel](http://citadel.dreamwidth.org/read). If you're interested in joining, please contact the mods as listed [here](http://citadel-info.dreamwidth.org/995.html#cutid1).

By the time Henry steps through the door of the relatively upscale billiards pub, all thoughts of Chris as anything but a new friend with a good sense of humor and a penchant for fun have been relegated to the back of his mind. He's looking forward to a few laughs, some good beer and a game or two of pool.

That hadn't stopped him, however, from wearing a shirt his mother says brings out the color of his eyes.

Early by a good twenty minutes, Chris has made himself comfortable at the bar. He's got a pint in one hand and he's casually flirting with the female bartender. It's not hard, she's objectively attractive, but the thought of anything more than light-hearted banter leaves him cold. He's long known he's a solid 6 on the Kinsey scale.

It's not hard to spot Chris once Henry's moved beyond the entrance proper. He sits head and shoulders above most everyone else. Henry watches him flirt, glancing at the bartender with a practiced eye for gauging those who others find attractive. She's pretty. He's not interested.

Sliding onto the barstool next to Chris, Henry gives her a wink just the same. "Evening," he says to her, then turns to look at Chris with a smile.

"Hey." Chris turns the full-wattage of his grin on Henry. "There you are." He leans in and gives the other man an exaggerated sniff. "You're not all covered in Ben Gay so you must've made it through class in one piece."

 _Ben Gay. Ben **Gay**? Oh, for about twenty-seven years now, thanks._ That word out of Chris's mouth almost causes Henry to say something that would most likely get him into trouble. So much for pushing those thoughts back.

Forcing himself to focus, Henry grins at him. "I'm all in one piece, yeah, but that piece would like to know exactly what it did to deserve its current state." He smiles at the bartend and orders a beer. "How 'bout you?"

"I'm good," Chris says, grinning back. "Shoulders are a little sore," he adds, rolling them out, "but it's nothing compared to how I felt working out my first week for Thor."

"I can imagine. How's it feel being an action hero?" Henry asks with a grin, the beer so soothing it's not until it's quenching his thirst that he realizes he's not been drinking enough. Again he makes that sound of surrender to the gods of thirst.

The groan makes Chris's stomach flip. Makes him grateful for shirttails left hanging. "Good. It's a little weird to have a built-in fan base and these guys who know the comic and your character so much more thoroughly than you ever will." He takes a sip of his beer. "You'll find out all about that, won't you? With Superman."

Henry smiles, his eyes widening for a second as he blows out a hard breath. "Seems I will. I've been reading as many comics as I can get my hands on. It's been a long time since I read them for fun."

Chris nods and polishes off his pint. "I read Superman as a kid but I wasn't familiar with Thor. I preferred all the DC heroes and villains." He nods at the bartender for a refill when he catches her eye. "I reserved a pool table by the way. The guys should be done in ten."

"Perfect. Just enough time for me to relax and get loosened up." Henry grins, honestly not intending the double entendre when he adds, "I do my best work when I'm all loosened up."

"That's good to know," Chris says with a soft chuckle, playing dumb. "I guess that means I shouldn't encourage you to get going on your beer."

"Well it's either that or encourage me to drink up. I do hit a point..." he trails off, smiles and takes a drink to continue the process.

"Where you're useless and easily beaten?" Chris supplies helpfully, eyes crinkling at their corners.

"Well, yes. Yes, that's it exactly," Henry answers with mock solemnity, nodding. Then he grins and waves his hand toward the table. "Looks like we're up early."

Beer in hand, Chris slides from his stool and moves his pint closer to a table beside where they'll be playing. "You have a preference for sticks?" he asks, nodding at the rack, a quick glance at Henry making him wonder the hell he's doing here. Playing with fire, that's what.

Henry's smirk could mean many things. He hopes. Grabbing a cue stick off of the rack, he twirls it between his fingers a couple of times. "This'll do."

"Good." Chris checks out a couple and chooses the one he thinks handles best. "Eight ball?"

"Eight ball sounds perfect," Henry says with an almost predatory smile. The competition edge has set in.

Chris chuckles at the look on Henry's face. "You look raring to go so I'll let you break." 

Henry's smirk blooms into a real smile. "Well isn't that benevolent of you?" Moving around the table, Henry eyes the rack for a moment, then bends to set up the shot. "You don't mind if I take solids, do you?" he asks as the wood slides easily through his fingers, sending two of said solid colors into opposite pockets.

"Not at all," Chris says, more than a little impressed by the shot. "I like stripes." He grins and takes a sip of his water. 

Well, so much for keeping things in his head clean. Stripes. He wouldn't mind a few from that giant paw of a... right. _Shoot, Henry. Just shoot. And not like that!_

Leaning over the table a bit more, a cool draft of air slips up under his shirt and a shiver and wave of goose flesh breaks over the small of his back. Licking his lips, Henry taps the ball, a minute cloud of blue chalk accompanying the connection and distracting him from his thoughts.

The ball misses the hole by a fraction of an inch and Chris grins. "That's it for you," he says, lining up and sinking his first shot. And his second. He takes a sip of his pint and lines up again. "Let's see if I can make it three..."

Henry's imaginative curse is mostly lost in the rim of his beer glass, but it comes with a smile. "I'm fucked, aren't I?"

Chris just grins and sinks his third, hanging his head when he misses the next one. "Maybe not."

"Second chances are beautiful things," Henry crows quietly. He makes a show of checking out the angles, then waggles his brows at Chris. "You're bested now, mate." The movement of his cue stick is slow and deliberate... and way off.

Chris cracks up. "You jinxed yourself, mate," he grins.

"Oh, the humanity . . ." Henry's head is still down, but he raises his eyes to look at Chris. The angle is stunning. Never has the man looked more powerful, his stance wide and sure. And large. He forces a smile and rises up, steps back and waves a hand over the table. "I just didn't want to take you out too fast or some other manly bullshit."

"Uh huh." That sparkle's back in Chris's eye as he lines up again and sinks two more. "Yes!" he crows, complete with fist pump.

Henry sighs, plopping down in his chair and stretching out completely, his ankles crossed. "I can see I'm no longer needed." He gives him a grin and a wink over the rim of his glass.

"Yeah, right. Let's see how I do with the next one," Chris says, winking back. It's stuck behind one of Henry's though and he doubts he can get a decent shot. Smacks the cue ball off the far cushion and it glides right past his ball. "Shit."

"Ha!" Henry surges up off of the chair and smacks Chris on the ass in a purely male gesture. "Reverse psychology works every time!" _Just like touching a guy to show just how secure you are in your heterosexuality when you're not..._

"How was that reverse psychology?" Chris protests, ignoring the twinge of his cock at the slap.

"I made you overly confident by pretending that I'd given up confidence. The wheels clearly turned too fast after that and... " Henry makes his shot, sinks the ball, _and then_ realizes it's a stripe. "Well shite."

Chris starts laughing so hard he can't even speak.

Henry glares at Chris for a moment, and when that doesn't stop the laughter, he lobs the chalk cube at him. "All right, all right, no one likes a smart arse."

Chris is quick to say sorry but he's obviously biting back a grin. Which he keeps contained even as he sinks his final stripe and the eight ball in short order.

Henry sighs. Loudly. As if the weight of the world just dropped onto his shoulders. Then he snorts, and laughs. "Well, I suppose I'm having crow for supper."

"Or we can go again," Chris suggests. "Best two out of three?"

"Best two out of three!" Henry agrees.

He suggests they switch to darts after losing game number two.

Squinting at the target, Henry slips his tongue between his teeth as he takes aim. "Now this? This is my game." Or maybe would be if he hadn't had a few more drinks than the ideal for a perfect game. Letting the dart fly, he smiles triumphantly when it hits a quarter inch left of center.

"Nice," Chris murmurs, pulling the meat off a chicken wing with his teeth and dumping it in the metal bucket in the middle of the table. "Two more. Come on."

"Bossy," Henry grumbles under his breath, but he's still smiling. He has to smile, it's either that or drop to his knees. He throws the next dart, then the next right afterward. The last nearly misses the outer ring. "Huh."

"Um." Chris does the sums in his head, subtracting the total from the number on the board. "Is that right?" he asks, picking up his darts. "You'd better check my math. I might be trying to cheat you." He grins at Henry, noting the flush of his cheeks with way too much interest. _Bet his ass would colour like that._

Henry makes a show of doing the math in his head as well but he has _no_ idea whether or not it's right. "Sure. Yeah. Of course."

Chris chuckles and throws his darts, one right after the other. Double twelve, six and an inner twenty. "Twenty-four plus twenty-six. Fifty. Subtracted from 403 is... 357, I mean, 353."

Turning up the rest of his beer, Henry steps up, murmuring under his breath, "Four and twenty blackbirds baking in a pie..." He's careful with his first shot, less with his second, and he throws the third while looking at Chris. "I might need a piece of paper."

"There's the chalkboard but if I start trying to add everything on there, there won't be any room for the actual scores," Chris says, pulling out his phone as a last resort and using the calculator on it. "Stupid buttons," he growls, having a rough time with the tiny keys. "Here, catch," he tosses the phone to Henry, "You do it, and while you're at it, you can put yourself in there."

Henry's fingers fly over the key pad... several times. "I'm winning," he finally announces, even though the only thing he's sure about was getting his number into Chris's phone.

"Good." Chris grins, pausing a beat before he adds, "It would suck if you lost everything tonight."

 _Suck. Lost everything. Lose the clothes, Henry..._ Henry turns and orders another beer before the direction of his thoughts continue in another direction. _Want me to beat you Henry?_ Oops. Didn't work.

Turning back around and giving Chris a beaming smile, he nods. "Again, simply luring you into a false sense of security."

Chris laughs. "Time out," he says, taking a seat and his phone back. He yawns, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "Sorry. Long day, as you know," he says with a smile, picking up another chicken wing. "So, is your whole family back in Jersey?" 

The sauce from the chicken wing seers Henry's tongue as he takes a bite, chewing and swallowing before he answers. "My folks are, and two of my brothers. The other two are in London and Milan, respectively," he says, indulging himself for the moment in watching Chris without censor.

"You have four brothers? I have two, one older and one younger," Chris says, rather strangely pleased they have that in common. "What about yours?"

"Three older, one younger," Henry answers. "It was good to finally have someone to harass when my younger brother was born," he adds with a grin.

"Yeah, houseful of boys gets pretty rough, doesn't it?" Chris says, finishing off one wing and picking up another. "How much younger is he?"

"Three years. I never confirmed it, but I suspect he may have been a bit of a surprise. I think I was the last official attempt at a girl." He reaches for a napkin, but licks the sauce off of his lips before he actually picks it up.

The flick of tongue stalls Chris for a second, the words hovering on his lips, before he gives himself a good mental kick and continues. "Um. Yeah. Mine too, maybe. Seven years younger."

"Oh wow. You were probably in 'big brother' mode--in the good way--then. Or did you tease him mercilessly?"

"I was good until he was older," Chris says with a grin, tossing what's left of the wing in the bucket and licking his fingers, "and then I gave him as much grief as I could. Passed it along from Luke, my older brother. Liam's the younger one."

"I've seen Liam in a few things, of course," Henry's unaware he's staring at Chris and the finger licking process until he finds himself having to blink in order to look away. "He's good."

"I'll let him know you said so. He'll be flattered," Chris says, following the licking with the rest of his beer and waving down their waitress for a refill. "You want another?" he asks, even though Henry's barely started on this one.

"More? Another?" Henry squints at the glass he has in his hand. "Huh. Uh. No? Miley Cyrus, huh?" Oops. He hadn't meant to say that.

Chris groans. "Don't ask me. She's a sweet kid but she and my brother..." he shakes his head. "I think they're on again at the moment."

"Ahh young love," Henry says, waving his glass around and ignoring the beer sloshed over the side. "How easy they have it and they probably don't even know." He'd be appalled if he could hear the slur in his voice.

"Someone sounds a little jaded," Chris observes with a smile. "When was the last time you had a girlfriend?"

"It's been years," Henry answers, his brow pinched in thought. "Don't have time. Just don't."

Chris nods. "Same here. And I've pretty much given up even going on dates. Every single woman I meet wants to think they're the exception and I'll be able to make time for them." It's his standard party line, the one he feeds everyone, and he might as well get it out in the open here too with Henry.

"And they're so _clingy_ ," Henry mutters, leaning toward him. He manages to be quiet, at least. It's when he's leaning back up that he realizes he's: A) revealing too much and B) drunk. "Which of course," he says quickly, "can be a very good thing."

Chris laughs. "Yeah, it can be, but mostly, it's fucking annoying," he says, his voice slurring as well. Although if it were Henry... He rubs a hand across his face and sits back too. "Weren't we playing darts?"

"Darts?" Henry yawns. Widely. "I think I might kill someone if I try now." His accent is out in its full glory.

"I can't remember where we were anyway," Chris says, waving to their waitress. "Hey. Could we get a pitcher please, and another batch of wings?"

"Wings. I might be a chicken soon," Henry says in very solemn style. "Or a buffalo. Or my lips might just burn off." Licking said lips, he smiles and props his head on his hand. "Are you a buffalo? You're huge and solid like one."

Chris laughs. "Maybe I should cancel that pitcher," he says with a grin, quite enjoying the way Henry's staring at him even if he's pretty sure it doesn't mean anything. Unless Henry's one of those straight guys whose orientation suddenly changes when they're drunk. And horny. And haven't had a date in a while.

"Have you ever paid for it?" Henry suddenly asks, yawning again and just as relaxed as if he'd just asked him about the weather.

"Paid for what?" Chris responds instinctually, his alcohol-soaked brain catching up a few seconds later. "Oh. Yeah. Couple of times. You?"

"Just easier." The words come out a syllable short and Henry suddenly sits upright. "I'm drunk." It's as if he's just discovered a new universal truth.

The waitress drops in with their pitcher and another basket of wings just then and Chris chuckles. "Should I cut you off then?"

"No, no that's not necessary. However a cab at the end of the night is definitely in order." Running his finger around and around the top of his beer glass, Henry works on focusing. It works, at least for now. "Okay, okay I can keep my head about me, what about you? What makes you lose your head?"

Chris shrugs a little. "Alcohol when I have too much. My temper when I really get angry," he says, refilling his glass and Henry's.

"How much is too much for a Megalon, anyway?" Henry's eyes are only for Chris at the moment, his beer and the fresh wings ignored.

"You're cruising for a bruising, aren't you?" Chris jokes, punching Henry on the shoulder.

The punch earns a grunt and a laughing expression of pain. "See! You _are_ a monster." Instead of rubbing at the tiny hurt, however, he's poking at it.

"You're not exactly small yourself," Chris retorts, but he's laughing.

"Well no, I'm not, but we're not measuring dicks right here in the pub, are we?" Henry sniffs a very "guy" sniff and adjusts himself.

"Not unless you have a tape measure," Chris says, going along with the joke, his gaze flickering to Henry's hand and quickly back to his face. He reaches for his beer and downs half the glass.

Henry reaches into his pocket as if he has just that. He gives Chris a wink and picks up his glass again. "You know, I haven't had this much fun in a while. Working too hard, I suppose."

Chris nods. "Same here," he says, popping another stripped-clean wing into the bucket. "I'm headed back to New Mexico on Monday but maybe we could get together again next weekend?"

"Sounds good. I'm staying at a beach house while I'm here. Private beach, if you want to hang out in the water. We could throw a good old fashioned beach bash. Or just get more beer and some hot dogs."

"Either works for me right now," Chris says, although really, he'd prefer it was just him and Henry. "Do you want my number?"

"Oh... oh God, oh of course, yes," Henry blathers, pulling his phone out of his pocket and keying up his phone book. "Here, don't say it out loud and risk being overhead."

Taking the phone from Henry, Chris keys in his numbers, home and cell. "You like horses?" he asks, noting the background.

Henry blinks, then smiles. "I do. They're huge. Powerful. And in most cases gentle, loyal and loving. That speaks to me."

Chris nods. "You own one?"

"I lost mine last year, actually. He was family bred and raised, mine from the moment he came from his mother, which was when I was about two. It doesn't seem right to have one now. Shuttling Charlie back and forth between countries is one thing, equine is a horse of a different color." Puns. He really _must_ be drunk.

Chris nods again. "I can understand that," he says, yawning against the back of his hand. He polishes off the rest of his beer and tops up both glasses again. "What was his name?" 

Henry smiles. "Monkeyshines. It had something to do with my parents explaining how he came to be," he adds with a chuff.

"Well, here's to Monkeyshines," Chris says, raising his glass.

"That's awfully kind of you," Henry answers, tilting his glass slightly and taking a long drink. "How about you? Do you ride?"

"I can ride a horse," Chris says slowly, "but I wouldn't exactly say I ride. It's something I do for work, not as a hobby."

"I love it. I love the way they move," Henry says, his passion for his subject sending him closer to the edge of his seat, his balance shifting almost as if he's astride even as he leans toward Chris. "It's like hitting a line just right and watching the energy of the room change when you learn a horse, the moment your legs lock tight around him and your body's in perfect rhythm, perfect synchronicity with all that leashed power..." Henry sits back, his smile reminiscent and bright. "It's brilliant."

"I'll let you get me riding if you let me take you out surfing," Chris says, quite enjoying the way Henry's face lights up when he's talking about something he loves.

"Deal. I'll put myself into your capable hands next weekend, then." Who cares if capable came out sounding a little like mush?

"Good." Chris grins. He yawns again. "Where did you say your beach house was?" He snorts. "I guess I should have you put that in my phone too." He hands it back over.

"Malibu. I know it's terribly cliché, but I couldn't turn it down when my family friend offered." Taking Chris's phone, he adds his address, then his eyes widen. "Is that the time?"

"Yeah." Chris nods. "I'm out that way too. You want to share a cab?"

"I would love to share a cab. I would love to have my car but a cab will have to do," Henry says with a heavy sigh. "Poor car."

Chris gives him a look. "Why poor car?"

"It has to stay here." Henry lifts his eyes to Chris and suddenly grins. "It's possible I'm just a little fucked." He laughs, reaching up over his head and giving a groan of pleasure at the stretch and pull of sore muscles.

"I'd say you're a lot fucked," Chris responds with a laugh, getting a little unsteadily to his feet. Like he's one to talk. "And you should've taken a cab down in the first place."

Henry joins him in standing. It takes him a few more seconds to _feel_ like he's standing, though. He leans toward Chris and stage whispers the latest truth. "Been a very long time since I've been out drinking and gotten drunk, mate."

"We need to build up your tolerance," Chris says with a grin, stopping at the bar to settle their tab and give the waitress a good tip.

"My tolerance is _fine_ , thank you!" Henry shoots back, clearly affronted. For about five seconds. Then he remembers they're talking about booze, not beatings. "Mostly."

Chris just laughs and slings an arm around Henry's shoulders - typical enough straight male-to-male contact - and guides the other man to the front door. "Sure it is."

 _God you're big... so big I almost feel small. Almost._ Throwing his arm around Chris's waist just as casually as Chris had behaved, Henry uses the contact to keep him upright. _Bollocks_ he's drunk. This is going to hurt in the morning.

Chris waves a cab down and pours Henry into the back seat, sliding in beside him. He gives the cabbie Henry's address and says he'll give him his once they're there. "Actually," he says, his head back against the seat. "I think I'm pretty fucked myself."

 _A boy can dream._ It's not until he hears the echo in his head that Henry realizes he's said it out loud. _Oh shite. Shite!_ Hopefully, Chris will interpret that in the one way that makes him sound straight, as if he's just teasing Chris.

"What?" Chris turns his head towards Henry, unsure he heard him right. 

"You _wish_ you could get fucked. Instead you're sharing a cab with a hairy chap from Jersey." Henry--drunk or not--is so used to his cozy closet he has no trouble at all covering his very momentary slip now.

Chris laughs. "Maybe we should have found out when the bartender got off," he says, playing along. 

"She was hot. So was the second waitress. She had very nice hair."

"Nice ass too."

Henry thinks for a minute, his face finally schooling into a lecherous smile. "Yeaaah."

"Tits were okay," Chris slurs a little, starting to get really tired, and frustratingly horny, what with Henry sitting right beside him. "But I'm an ass man. You?" Amused by his own drunkenness. You can pretty much get away with anything when you're this many sheets to the wind.

"I like ass. A lot." And then, Henry actually giggles. If he remembers this tomorrow, it's possible he'll never consent to see Chris again out of sheer mortification.

"Yeah?" Chris glances over at Henry through heavy-lidded eyes. "Just to look at or...?" He grasps an imaginary pair of hips and thrusts upwards.

Henry's smile drifts dangerously from that lustful look to a dreamy, wistful one. The image of Chris pumping hard into a willing ass is not one Henry will forget. Ever. Never ever. "Yeah," he drawls low and slow, his eyes drifting closed.

"Yeah to the second thing?" Chris clarifies.

"Yeah." Vague, thy name is Cavill.

"Where's the weirdest place you've ever done it?" Chris mumbles, eyes mostly closed as well. It takes a few seconds for Henry to assimilate the question. When it finally sinks in, he answers immediately.

"In a giant ring box."

Okay. _Now_ Chris's eyes are open. "In a what?"

Henry giggles again. He'll hate himself in the morning--again, if he remembers it. "In Rio. At an international bridal show. I had to go for Dunhill. There was a giant ring box there. A prop. I... defiled it." He bursts into laughter.

Chris shakes his head, still trying to imagine that. "I don't think I have anything even close to that," he says. And definitely not anything he can share without giving himself away.

"It was... very surreal," Henry assures him, barely getting the word "surreal" out. As it is he'd added an "h."

"I bet," Chris says, laying his head back again. He smiles. "You ever been caught?"

His head back against the worn vinyl as well, and his eyes closed, Henry shakes his head. "No, thank the heavens." He turns his head toward Chris but doesn't open his eyes. "You?"

Chris grins. "Not yet," he says, turning his head to find Henry right there. _Right there_. Close enough to kiss. Which of course he's not going to do.

Henry sighs, his eyes fluttering open, and there's Chris. _Right_ there. He doesn't mean to suck in the quick breath; doesn't mean to follow it up with a slow inhale that takes in the soapy, spicy scent of Chris that underscores the smell of beer and hot sauce. He just can't help it.

Chris knows he's skirting the edge. Playing with fire, running with scissors, all that. But they're _so_ drunk. "What about guys? You ever jerked off your best mate or let some guy suck you off in the dark?" he murmurs, the music from the front definitely meaning the driver can't hear them.

Henry's heart slams against his ribs and the cab brightens as his pupils flare, just for a moment. Licking his lips, he stares at Chris --at those full, perpetually smiling lips, blue eyes that crinkle at the corners--then he closes his eyes again, afraid he'll give too much away. "Well, ya know, I went to boarding school." Which tells everything and nothing.

Well, that right there, that's going to play in Chris's fantasies later, but for now... "That's what I figured," he says with another laugh. "Blokes'll do anything for sex." 

Which also says everything and nothing. "You too, then?" Henry pushes.

"Not boarding school," Chris says, watching Henry, gauging his reactions, "but we lived at a cattle station for a while when I was a kid and there weren't too many girls up there.

For a few seconds, Henry's brain tries to catch up, to figure out what kind of game they're playing or why he's walking this very thin line between guy talk and revelation. Then his brain just shuts down and he echoes Chris, just trying to stay awake. "Cattle station... yeah."

The car pulls to a stop just then and Chris looks out past Henry. "Is this your place?" 

Opening his eyes slowly, Henry sits up so fast he bangs his head on the ceiling... and makes himself a little sick. Groaning, he rubs at his head as he nods. "Yeah, yeah we're here." Digging into his pocket for his wallet, he peers blearily at the meter.

"Just leave it," Chris says, sitting up too. "I'll take care of it at the end. You okay?"

Henry gives him a sudden, blinding smile. "I'll take care of you next week, man, and I'm fine, yeah." Reaching for the door, it takes him a try or two to find the handle but he eventually pops the door open. "See ya."

He's surprisingly reluctant to get out of the car. God he's drunk.

"See ya," Chris says back. "You might want to put some ice on that." 

Henry doesn't answer, he's too busy stumbling toward his front door which is--blessedly--not far from the street. Waving behind him, he struggles to get the key in the door, crowing with triumph when a bark and a squawk greet him, along with a flare of light from the sensor controlled lamp. One more wave behind him and the door closes with a slam.

Chris watches Henry disappear inside then gives the driver his address. He sits back heavily, watching the house disappear from the back window. Code. He's got to stick to the code. No matter what. And that means no more talk about kinky sex and fucking blokes at school, drunk or sober.


End file.
